084 Enchanted by the Magic Carpet

It was snowing again in Cervantes. The snowflakes fluttered gently from the sky. Standing in the garden, Theresa’s mind drifted away with the falling snow, slowly dissolving into each crystal, merging with their essence. She could feel the tightly compressed water molecules in their solid state—resting when weary, then choosing another flake to flow through when refreshed. Rather than a strict discipline, her practice resembled a game—a playful dance with the snow. More importantly, she was nurturing her spiritual power in this leisurely way. Since the human consciousness was often likened to a sea of awareness, the mind’s energy was like water within that sea: only by keeping it in motion, like a flowing stream, could she prevent it from stagnating and weakening over time.

Thus, a peculiar scene unfolded in the garden: around Theresa, clad in white winter furs, the snowflakes drifted more slowly. Those descending from the sky seemed to pause, as if held aloft by an invisible hand, when they neared within ten centimeters of her.

“Therese! What are you doing out here in this freezing cold? No wonder I couldn’t find you for ages!” With a roar, someone dashed over to her, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the house.

Dragged along, it took Theresa a few moments to regain her focus. “Achille! When did you come home?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“I just got back today,” Achille replied briefly, his tone calm and steady. But Theresa, knowing him well, instantly sensed something was off.

Achille’s steps were swift and forceful, and since Theresa had not wandered far from the house, they quickly found themselves back in the warmth of the indoors. Achille took a shawl from the waiting servant and wrapped it over Theresa, who already resembled a little white bear in her layers. Then he placed two hot water bottles in her arms before finally letting go.

The sudden warmth made her nose itch. She freed a hand from her bundle of clothes and rubbed her nose. “Achille, you don’t seem in a good mood. Did your mission go badly this time?”

At her question, Achille’s expression darkened further. He ground his teeth and said, “My business went perfectly! But you—something so serious happened to you, and you didn’t even tell me!”

Theresa blinked, not immediately realizing what he meant. Only when his face grew even darker and his anger seemed to boil over did she suddenly understand. “You mean what happened in Stormwind? Well, it’s all over now, isn’t it?”

“Over? Hell no!” Achille bellowed. “You almost died! Over, my foot! Damn it, who did it? I’ll butcher the bastard myself!”

With a sigh, Theresa shook her head and patted his back to calm him. “Uncle Amos and Aunt Betty will deal with it. It seems to have been the work of political enemies. I was just caught in the crossfire. Rather than blame their plotting, I should blame my own weakness for giving them the opportunity… Enough, let’s not dwell on this unpleasantness. Where have you been these past two months? Why were you gone so long?”

Hearing her words, Achille fell strangely silent, his eyes flickering with mixed emotions. After a while, he managed to pull himself together and answered her questions. They chatted for a time, and seeing how travel-worn Achille was, Theresa urged him to rest in his room. She, too, wrapped herself up warmly and returned to her own chamber.

Once alone, Theresa caressed the gift box Achille had brought her, but her thoughts drifted back to his earlier question—about the ambush. Although Amos had taken pains to explain and apologize afterward, and had promised to see justice done, Theresa was still deeply disappointed.

She wasn’t disappointed in how Amos handled matters—she trusted that Amos, Betty, even Paidia and Achille would never let her attackers go unpunished. What disappointed her was that, as things stood, she had no chance to seek justice herself. She was still too weak—so weak she had become the Achilles’ heel of the Aubrion family.

Though alchemists were not warriors, a sufficiently accomplished one could attract powerful protectors, and their own reputation and skill could be a deterrent in itself.

In the end, it all came down to her lack of strength. If she wanted to venture to the Realm of Nature, she needed greater power. If she didn’t want to be a burden, she needed to become stronger still.

With that realization, a fire seemed to blaze in her eyes—fierce and unyielding.

***

Magical tapestries, depending on the skill of the weaver, were classified into different grades. The weaving process was exceedingly complex, demanding great mental strength; only alchemists with the “Second Touch” or higher could barely manage to create one. The simplest and most common magical tapestries on the market contained only a single magic circle, usually of a flashy but impractical type—mainly for sound or light, serving little purpose beyond decoration.

For her first attempt, Theresa had no choice but to start with the basics. She pored over Carol’s notes on tapestry weaving at least ten times, ensuring she understood every detail, rehearsing each step in her mind countless times before finally beginning the work.

She deftly separated the long blue stems of maranthe into halves, and then halves again, and again and again… The endless splitting rendered the already flat maranthe into strands as fine as silk.

The countless threads were gently wound into skeins and soaked in a specially prepared solution. Even the angle and speed of immersion had to be just right, or the tapestry’s enchantment would be severely weakened.

While monitoring the soaking process, she busied herself with preparing new solutions—each tapestry required at least five different materials, and both the choice of fibers and the composition of the solutions varied depending on the desired effect. Even the weaving techniques differed, which is why people said, “No two magical fabrics in the world are ever truly alike.”

After three hours, six differently colored plant fibers were finally ready. Theresa let out a long sigh, wiped sweat from her brow, closed her eyes, and once more reviewed the weaving techniques and the magic circle she had designed for the tapestry. Only then did she draw a deep breath and set to work, her hands darting rapidly among the threads. Her fingers moved so quickly they became a blur, and only the emergence of beautiful patterns slipping from her wrists could be seen.

In just six or seven minutes, beads of sweat glistened on her forehead—an odd sight in the heart of winter. But Theresa dared not wipe them away or even blink, focusing every ounce of her energy on her hands.

When the final seam was closed, she collapsed into her chair, her arms twitching uncontrollably, her body drenched in sweat. Even the two innermost layers of her clothing clung damply to her skin.

Yet she refused to rest; with trembling, uncooperative hands, she spread out the tapestry and meticulously examined it with her spirit, inch by inch. At last, she exhaled in relief, a brilliant smile lighting her face—she had succeeded! Her very first attempt was a triumph.

But her smile quickly twisted into something else—

A small golden creature was treading evenly along her left hand, from the back of her palm to her shoulder and back again. It was the little golden wolf, massaging her hand!

With every step, she felt a peculiar sensation—part ticklish, part aching—transmitted to her nerves. Yet as the feeling persisted, it somehow blended into a deep, soothing pleasure, making her both adore and resent the little wolf.

The golden wolf, tireless as ever, finished one hand and immediately scampered to the other, continuing its earnest massage. Its serious demeanor was utterly endearing. Theresa felt as if a feather were tickling her heart, and the thought she could not suppress arose again—she wanted to create a second sentient alchemical puppet to keep the little wolf company!

Once the idea took root, it was like a spark on the prairie—impossible to extinguish. She reminded herself over and over that the soul was forbidden territory, but the stubborn impulse in her bones would not be quelled. After all, she had the little golden wolf and nothing had happened—what harm could a second one do? She used only broken soul fragments, not whole souls; nothing could go wrong… It would be fine, it would be fine…

With each round of self-reassurance, her desire for a second sentient puppet only burned hotter, until it blazed into an all-consuming fire!

***

With a bang, Theresa’s door was kicked open and a whirlwind of a figure burst in. The intruder, fierce and angry at first, was instantly distracted by the sight of the exquisite magical tapestries adorning the room. Her rage dissolved into a flood of exclamations.

“Wow, these magical tapestries are gorgeous!” Benita gasped, moving closer to the wall. Two entire walls were draped with tapestries—not only an astonishing number, but of remarkable quality. The beautiful designs bore an exotic flair, and from left to right, bottom to top, the improvement in skill and the ingenuity of the designs were clear.

Starting from the lower left, the earliest tapestries were traditional in style, with clumsy craftsmanship and conventional motifs. But as she practiced, her skill became more refined, and by the sixth tapestry, new themes began to appear—popular artistic elements replacing the old formulaic praises. From the seventeenth tapestry onward, the embedded magic circles became more complex. Where once only a single sound or colored light might emerge, now there were tapestries with interwoven colored lights and resonating sounds—each more exquisite and mesmerizing than the last.

Seated by the window, Theresa was weaving her thirty-fifth tapestry—a meter wide and over two meters long. Upon it was depicted the famous “Meeting on Hero’s Hill.” Though the faces were still rough, the grandeur of the scene was palpable even from afar. Theresa’s skill had become truly remarkable.

Just looking at this “Meeting on Hero’s Hill,” who would believe that Theresa had only been learning magical tapestry weaving for ten days? (To be continued)